


I Don't Need a New Love, Just a Better Place To Die

by awesomecookies



Series: Let's set the world on fire [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Aliases, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Badass! Victor Nikiforov, Badass! Yuuri Katsuki, But it's there, Crossdressing, Drama, Fluff, M/M, Names, Not that descriptive...like it's not even really detailed, POV Victor Nikiforov, Pining, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Romance, Sex, Smitten! Victor Nikiforov, So yeah, Spies & Secret Agents, Time Skips, Victor is just that smitten, Will add more when I remember more, but like...they love to drink a lot, hints of violence, i don't know how to tag, like a lot, something like that....like they don't hurt themselves because of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 04:49:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15942125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomecookies/pseuds/awesomecookies
Summary: "I'll be careful of what you wish for if I were you.""Jesus Christ!"Victor jumped from the hotel bed and immediately drew his gun, aiming it at the figure before him. A knife was pressed on his neck in return, the cold metal almost burning his flesh."I'm flattered, but I'm not some religion's object of worship." Eros grinned back at him. He was so close. Victor could feel his breath on his cheek. Under the dim lights of the room, Victor thought it was a shame he wasn't an object of worship. Victor wanted to start a religion on Eros' name.Orr How Yuuri and Victor met in the fic I'll Carry You Home Tonight.  (Don't need to read that one to understand this)





	I Don't Need a New Love, Just a Better Place To Die

**Author's Note:**

> hey guysss!! I am back!! This took me around 5 months what the actual hell?? Also have u guys seen the hits and kudos on I'll Carry You Home (Tonight)? Thank YOu so much! I've never got that much love! Thanks guys! Anyway This is the prequel to ICYHT and you don't need to read that to understand this but if you wanna read the first one, I'll appreciate you so much. Anyway, I should be studying for my pre-midterms but...ughhh I gut side tracked hahaha enjoy!

Sometimes you just need alcohol to drown away your sorrows. By no means was Victor an alcoholic, no. It's just something that comes together with the job description least you want to lose your sanity. The words horribly sounded familiar, whispered to him with jest some lifetime ago, but Victor couldn't get himself to care.

He swirled the clear liquid in his glass with contemplation and fiddled with the cold metal on his other hand as it caught the lights from the city outside. Its shine mocked him in the darkness of the room he sat in.

Nights like these were best spent alone with maybe an entire bottle of the finest and most expensive vodka, all for him to consume by himself, remembering, regretting. Only to forget it all again. Rinse and repeat.

And Victor had only so few he regretted about. One was how he wasn't able to pursue his dream as a figure skater. Stupid, superficial thing. Born out of him when he was young and naive, and thought everything would work out if he just tried hard enough. When he thought the world was good, instead of the cynical world of deception he had known now.

Yes, stupid, superficial, naive, but it had been a dream once. A dream his too young self believed in, so it would sting just a little bit. He often wondered what life would have been if he had pursued that dream. Victor would then laugh bitterly and put that thought away for another time.

Victor had regrets, he only had so few.

And then there's Yuuri Katsuki all together on his own.

 

* * *

 

Victor was twenty when he first saw him, numb from the recent loss, numb from the pain. He doesn't care, he told himself, as he carried out another successful mission because that's all there is left for him, isn't it? Otherwise it wouldn't have been worth it, none of it would be worth it.

Victor remembered it like it was only yesterday instead of an eternity.

They weren't even meant to meet. It was all just a coincidence, a play of fate, some sort of serendipity written in the stars.

He was trying to blend in after successfully acquiring information from one of his sources. The details doesn't matter, and frankly, he couldn’t remember. Victor just happened to be in the wrong hotel, in the wrong hallway. A wrong turn, a wrong door. There was so much things that had gone wrong in that moment, all of them could've altered the course of his life had he just been more vigilant. But how could he have known?

He opened up that fateful room and there he was, standing in his own glory.

He wasn't Yuuri Katsuki then, nothing but a nameless agent trained to follow orders to the letter, just a faceless phantom among the sea of people. He wore a tight black suit and a mask to keep him unknown.

He had blood lust in his stance, pure unadulterated hatred brimming his dark eyes as he slit the throat of a man, later Victor would know was a traitor to his cause. He was unfazed of the blood spilled all over him. In fact, he might be even pleased of the evidence of the traitor's death upon his hands. There was something absolutely visceral about him, and Victor couldn't look away.

Then those dark eyes met Victor's own blue ones.

And wasn't it just easy to forget the moment? Wasn't it easy to forget when captivating eyes looked at him and electricity shocked Victor to the core?

Too bad they met this way. Too bad they met at a traitor's assassination.

The first time Victor Nikiforov saw Yuuri Katsuki, he was almost stabbed to the heart with a furious man who wanted no witnesses.

Perhaps the nail in the coffin was the fact that despite two broken ribs, several bruises and a heavy berating from his handler, he couldn't get himself to regret it.

No, not when there was fire in his blood after such a long time.

Victor was twenty, and he felt a renewed sort of feeling inside of him.

 

* * *

 

The next time Victor saw Yuuri Katsuki was approximately a year later. It was in a strip club in Vegas, strangely enough.

Victor had a face to attach to now. He's no longer just the mysterious phantom from the hotel. Albeit this face was still different from his real one.

If last time he had been covered all the way, this time left no room for imagination. He was in leather, fishnets, and lingerie. Paired with heels that were meant to go for the kill. A smirk was painted on his face as he swaggered across the stage, confident that he held the world on his fingers, but he couldn't get himself to care.

The way he worked himself up on the pole was poetry all on its own. The sultry glances he gave was worth its own religion. Victor was but a follower, a mortal in front of such a deity. He never stood a chance.

He was a hurricane, a predator masked behind cosmetics and perfumes. His kohl lined eyes made its way to Victor's own and that had been his doom. Really who was Victor to go against that?

Black heels found their mark. A seductive smirk and the blessed feeling of hands all over his chest overwhelmed Victor's senses. There was a breath next to his ear, sweet caresses, and just a tease of what he could have. And then, after a playful wink he was gone.

It took Victor an embarrassing long while to realize he wasn't the only one that vanished that night. The files he was supposed to smuggle out of the strip club, the entire reason why he was there in the first place, was gone too.

That was the moment he was absolutely positive he was wrecked.

 

* * *

 

"I'm impressed," he said the next day after Victor spent the entire night tracking him down, until finally cornering him at a small cafe. "Nobody usually finds me after I steal from them." He huffed without even looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

"You've got your tricks, I've got mine." Victor grinned from where he sat directly behind him, facing away from him but close enough to be able to talk comfortably so as to not arouse suspicion. Too bad he couldn't see the face he was making.

"Mhm. I suppose that's to be expected from KGB's golden boy, Alexander Ivanovsky. They don't call you the Living Legend for nothing," he very calmly sipped his coffee. "If you're here for the flash drive then I'm sorry to disappoint but I've already surrendered it to my handler."

"I know." Victor answered too easily.

That surprised him at the very least. Or so Victor assumed was what the long pause meant. He hesitated before asking. "Then why are you here?"

Victor smiled despite his conversation partner unable to see it. "Because I needed to know who beat me the second time around."

This time, he did laugh. The sound was pleasant to Victor's ears. They were like bells, mirthful, cheery and free. A contradiction from the bewitching man from last night. "And you expect me to just give my name away like that?"

"Maybe a number too while you're at it." Victor would wink if they were facing each other. Instead, he fought back his own laugh.

"Ridiculous," But his tone sounded more amused than exasperated. Victor heard the crinkling of the newspaper. He must've turned a page.

"I'm at a disadvantage. You know my name, yet I don't know yours. Not for the lack of trying of course." Victor sighed dramatically. He leaned his head on his propped up hand as he stared wistfully at the clear blue sky.

"We both know Alexander is just your alias." Ah. Straight to the point.

"Rather an alias than nothing at all," Victor replied. "I want to get to know you."

"You want to get to know me?" And there's a quick disbelieving snicker before he tossed his paper to the table. The chair screeched back and then he was shrugging on his coat. For just a split second, Victor felt his stomach sink at the notion of companion leaving, walking away from his life forevermore without even a name for Victor to remember. But then he paused, and in a tiny whisper, barely meant to be heard, he muttered before he left for good.

"Call me...Eros."

The second time Victor met the elusive Yuuri Katsuki, he had known him as Eros, and Victor was enthralled.

 

* * *

 

Victor Nikiforov's infatuation didn't grow from that day in the hotel room, it wasn't even from that night in Vegas.

No. It was the sleepless nights Victor spent thinking about flashes of leather, fishnets, and lingerie. The click of heels always rang in his mind, the sight of pale skin, of sweat rolling down his body.

He remembered caresses and intoxicating scents, heated gazes and lips quirked into a seductive smirk.

Some days, he'd find his mind drifting to the thought of Eros and his cheery laugh that sounded like the tinkling of silver bells.

It wasn't often. But it happens.

It was curious why. Victor often wondered what was in that laugh that had him thinking. What was in that dark eyes that kept him pinned in place?

It was a mystery Victor wanted to solve so desperately, a sight he wanted to see once more, even just one time.

"I'll be careful of what you wish for if I were you."

"Jesus Christ!"

Victor jumped from the hotel bed and immediately drew his gun, aiming it at the figure before him. A knife was pressed on his neck in return, the cold metal almost burning his flesh.

"I'm flattered, but I'm not some religion's object of worship." Eros grinned back at him. He was so close. Victor could feel his breath on his cheek. Under the dim lights of the room, Victor thought it was a shame he wasn't an object of worship. Victor wanted to start a religion on Eros' name.

It seemed only fitting that he be called by the name of the Greek god of love.

"What are you doing here?" Victor whispered.

"Granting you your wish, it would seem." Eros whispered back. "You were thinking quite loudly." 

Victor drew away, heat in his face, burning in embarrassment. Eros' smirked as Victor fumbled with his words. "That's--you know that's not what I'm talking about!"

Eros laughed, a dulcet tone that lulled Victor. His laughs were symphonies in their own right, lovely in their different variations.

"Can't I just see you because I've been thinking of you too?" Eros drawled, sitting across Victor as if he owned the place. Eros always exuded confidence. It was stunning to look at, and at the same time, enviable.

Eros was dressed in ripped jeans, white turtleneck and a leather jacket. His hair was dyed brown and black framed glasses perched on his nose. He also wore blue colored contacts that did nothing to change the sharpness of his stare, and was he wearing...makeup?

Yes, that was definitely pink lip gloss on his mouth and eye liner on his eyes. There was barely any resemblance left from the man he met in Vegas. Physically, at least.

"Don't fill me with your lies." Victor nearly pleaded. He didn't think he could take it.

"What makes you think I'm lying?" There's a certain mystique to how Eros moved. The way he drew his blade back, flashing it around for show, was poetry. Every motion had notes flowing, slowly constructing into music, slowly building into an orchestra. It becomes a song.

"You seem the type to play around." Victor huffed. Eros looked ethereal, too intangible to be an actual entity before him. A god.

"Don't call the kettle black," Eros retorted. "After all, I'm not the playboy in this room."

The smile on his face wasn't cold, but it wasn't as friendly as Victor would've wanted, yet Victor was no playboy. That was a ruse, a cover. Women were far from Victor's best interest and it shall stay that way forevermore.

"Don't compare yourself to them. They don't hold a candle to you." Victor appeased.

"I'm sure you've told them the same thing." Eros shot down. "You aren't any different from the others."

"And yet here you are, in my hotel room." Victor pointed out. Then Eros' gaze became clearer, such burning intensity directed at Victor. He was tempted to look away.

"I'd say I'm infatuated," He glanced outside the window overlooking the city view. The street lights made the whole place sparkle. "But I suppose, curious is the proper word I'm looking for," He glanced back at Victor with a playful look.

"Curious of what exactly?"

Eros gestured at him noncommittally, his stare was cool and unattached. "If you dyed your hair silver, or your hair is just graying faster than the average."

Victor gasped indignantly, hand flying up to the crown of his hair by instinct. "Excuse me?! It's a natural platinum!"

Eros tipped his head in laughter once more, this time louder than last time.

"Who would've known? The illustrious Alexander Ivanovsky's sole weakness is his vanity for his hair," Then there's that wonderful sound, the one that rings like the chiming of sleigh bells. It made his eyes crinkle. It looked good to the man.

"Did you come here just to insult my hair?" Victor muttered, still wounded because although the sight of Eros laughing was almost worth it, he was still a vain man.

"This and that, among many others," Eros replied easily. "But I wasn't lying when I said I came here to see you." 

"Why?" Victor asked, but Eros was already walking away so casually as if he knew Victor wouldn't hurt him. He was right, very much so. He hated him for that.

  
He stopped by the doorway, turning just a little to see Victor at the corner of his eye. "I'll be seeing you a lot more in the future Ivanovsky that I can promise." He said like it would answer all of the questions running in Victor's head right now. And with that he was gone.

 

* * *

 

After that Eros kept his promise as he just kept seeing the man everywhere. All in different corners of the world. His face ever changing as his name.

One time he was the driver of his taxi cab, then the next he's an artist in the park. He's the pianist on stage, the waiter to his table, the bartender behind the bar. Even the (and this almost gave Victor a heart attack) scantily clothed prostitute woman who winked at him and blew him a shameless kiss.

And Victor found himself wanting more at every meeting, at every different name, every different face. Obsession turned into hunger. There's a sudden need to see him, to hold him, like an itch he longed to scratch.

So it wasn't really a surprise to find him pinning the man against the wall, nipping at every sliver of skin he could get his lips on.

He didn't know how it happened. Maybe it was the way he winked at him suggestively in the casino, or perhaps it was the way he fluttered his lashes at him. Perhaps Victor could blame it to the glasses of champagne he drank earlier at dinner. Maybe he could blame it to the sultry thud of heels on the carpeted floor, the teasing breath on his neck, the coquettish slide of his palm on silk shirts.

However it happened, Victor knew the moment he saw dark eyes staring at his soul, wearing the most sensuous dress like it was a second skin, he was already done for.

It was irrational of course and completely dangerous. But Eros was grinning at him, beckoning him to just let go, and really? Who was Victor to refuse that?

So he didn't.

He submitted to Eros' touch, let him dominate over his body, letting him pound Victor into the mattress, a string of curses and praises escaped Victor's lips. If it was in English, Russian or whatever language, he didn't know nor did he care.

All that mattered was this blessed feeling tonight and Victor allowed himself to be swept along it, forgetting everything else for now.

Their scents, sweats and cries of pleasure blended together and in that moment, Victor lost himself to his primitive desire.

 

* * *

 

When Victor woke up the next day, it was in an empty bed with soiled sheets. The hotel room was silent.

He inhaled deeply, laying an arm on his face. Victor felt sore, tired, and, as much as he hated to admit, thoroughly fucked.

The memories from last night would cling to him forever like a brand. Victor could still feel his lips on his skin, still taste the saltiness of his sweat. The smell of sex remained.

Sunlight flitted in the room. It was too much for Victor to handle.

 

* * *

 

This became a routine. It was more of a game between them, see who the first one to cave in. Eros would show up, tease him, tempt him. Victor would try to resist, then he'd give in in the end. He always did.

He'd relent in the end, giving up dominance. Then Eros would cry out his given name, and Victor would use his. They don't need real names. This didn't have any meaning after all. Just them, using each other's body for pleasure, using each other for their own satisfaction because they're selfish like that. They both love to take but never give.

And it's alright.

Victor tried to convince himself as he feels the sting of Eros' nails digging deep on Victor's back, telling him-no commanding him to never take his eyes off of him.

Eros loomed above him, his palm pressed on Victor's lips, a gesture to say he didn't need words for tonight. No kisses for they weren't lovers, no tenderness for that wasn't what he needed.

Yes. It was alright indeed. Even when he's gone the in morning, leaving Victor with bruises and scratches as the only evidence he was there in the first place.

They weren't lovers. So he didn't need to stay.

Victor was used to it.

 

* * *

 

"I didn't know you smoked."

They were on a rooftop in the Middle East. Victor was crouched over a sniper, aiming at the fourth window on the fifty third floor. He hated assassinations, but orders are orders.

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me then." Eros took a drag of his cigarette, the burning tip was a contrast to the darkness of the night. His eyes were a bit distant, calculating.

Eros suddenly decided he wanted to skip the pretenses and reveal himself directly, hence why he was sitting next to him with a cigarette on one hand. It was a bit out of character, but Victor didn't mind.

"I mean it you know. What I said in Vegas." Victor murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. Vegas felt like a lifetime ago.

That made him pause his reverie, turning to Victor with dark eyes. There was confusion, question, calculation. Victor didn't dare break his stare. Then there was conclusion. Victor feared what it might be.

"You are a peculiar man." Eros seemed to have settled on. "What do you even want to know?"

"Anything," Victor breathed. "Everything. Tell me your favorite color."

Eros barked out a laugh as he put out his cigarette. “You ask that of all things?"

Victor shrugged. "It's a valid question."

"Fine," He sighed in that resigned sigh of his, shoulders hunching. "Blue," He answered without hesitation. "You?" Eros gestured at Victor.

"What?" Victor did a double take. It earned him an amused look.

"I think it's only fair if I get to ask you questions too."

Victor agreed and without much hesitation he replied. "Gold."

Eros snickered. "How vain."

Victor chuckled, just slightly wistful as he leaned on his sniper. For once the air felt calm. Strange, considering they were both about to witness an assassination.

"I'm not denying that."

He aimed the sniper carefully, trying to make it count. He pulled the trigger, the bullet pierced through the window and to the target. The muffled sound of panic resonated from the building. Eros grinned and brushed his trousers with a flourish.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

 

* * *

 

Eros was more playful than the other times.

He had Victor writhing, begging in desperation. Eros had him wrapped around his fingers at every thrust. Victor was a whimpering mess, a willing victim.

The sight of him panting, smirking at him with a coy and knowing look will forever be burned in Victor's mind and skin.The night felt like it'll never end. Despite how many times Victor climaxed, Eros used him still for his own pleasure. He fucked him over, and over, and over until he finally felt satiated.

Victor could barely keep his eyes open at the end of the night.

He woke up to the same sight. Empty sheets. Cold bed. Quiet room.

_It didn't matter._

Was what he thought in the end.

 

* * *

 

 

"What's your favorite season?"

Victor watched the raindrops from the window. The storm was a heavy down pour that painted the entire sky with a drab color of grey. Eros sat across him with a glass of rum on one hand and a book on the other.

"Your questions get more absurd every time we meet." Eros fired back without taking his eyes off the book.

"I hate winter." Victor continued, pouring a glass of rum for himself.

"Suppose a Russian could get tired of the cold too," Eros set his book on his lap, giving up on reading. "We have that in common at least."

"You hate the cold?" Victor stared at his glass with deliberation.

"No," He replied. "I hate the snow. Blood is very noticeable in the snow. And you leave foot prints all the time. It's troublesome."

Victor laughed. "So serious. I love the ice and snow. Russia is beautiful covered in white, but I hate the cold."

"The cold doesn't bother me anymore." Eros shrugged.

"Anymore?"

"Hm," Eros fell back into silence, unwilling to give more than that. So Victor left it at that.

"Spring is nice though. I love looking at the flowers." Victor added, filling the gaps in their conversation.

"That's your favorite season then?" Eros sipped his glass of rum.

"I guess you could say that." Victor laughed. Eros looked contemplative, his eyes boring into Victor's own. It was a sight Victor often saw, but he'll never get used to.

And then he finally looked away, whispering softly.

"I like spring too."

 

* * *

 

 

"What's your favorite flower?" Eros asked in a bar in Brazil, nursing his glass of tequila. The question was almost lost to the sound of techno and bass blaring through the room, but Victor caught it all the same. He doesn't usually ask first. Such a strange change of behavior.

"Lilies," Victor observed the crowd of dancing, sweaty people with slight aversion. He still doesn't get why anyone would want to get in between that. Although he had to admit it was a good cover when planting something on a target, so maybe he shouldn't complain. "They're my mother's favorite. Reminds her of home."

"Home?" The flashes of reds and blues and purples lit Eros' face charmingly. Tonight, he had slicked back black hair and a simple flannel shirt paired with a plaid button down and tight jeans. It wasn't the first time Eros sought him out without the guise of a mission, yet it still felt foreign to Victor.

"France. She's half French. Moved to Russia when she was twelve. She taught me her language when I was younger. You?"

He gave a thoughtful hum, fingers drumming on the counter top. "I'd say chrysanthemum, but you'd think I'm some sort of loyal lap dog," He chuckled before setting his glass on the bar. It felt too normal.

"Blue roses." Eros finally said.

This time, it was Victor's turn to laugh. "There aren't any blue roses."

"Mhm," Eros shrugged. "I like the impossibility of it. Its unattainablity," He smirked. "It also symbolizes immortality. What's not there to like?"

Victor huffed and rolled his eyes. "You only like it because it’s blue."

He smiled. It was just a bit guilty and playful at the same time. This was new. The sudden feeling of amiability felt so new.

 

* * *

 

They went at it again, but this time something felt less desperate. It wasn't as hurried like last time.

This was nice, Victor then decided.

When he awoke the next day, he found himself alone yet again, but this time, there were pain killers and a glass of water on his bedside table.

Victor can't help but smile as he downed the glass of water and pills.

 

* * *

 

"What's your favorite food?" Victor asked offhandedly as they dined together in a restaurant in London some six months later.

"Katsudon." Eros replied with the same amount of casualness. This time, he was dressed as an Englishwoman, flaming red hair, green eyes and freckles. He even nailed the accent. It was a mystery. Apparently, he had decided to dress as a woman when they meet up in the open. It kept him incognito, and it kept Victor's facade as an illustrious playboy.

"Katsudon?"

"Fried pork cutlet. Eggs. Rice. I'll show you when we're in the right country." Eros continued cutting his roast beef without much flourish. "It's criminal to give you a cheap knock off. You shouldn't eat it anywhere but Japan." 

It was a little scary how he can shift himself into a different person so easily. 

"Pot-au-feu. Well my mother's pot-au-feu." Victor felt a slight ache in his chest at the thought of his mother and her kind smile as she puttered about in the kitchen. He shrugged it off before he started to lose himself.

"That's a bit of a surprise." Eros pointed out. He drank his glass of ale and then scrunched his nose in distaste. "This is terrible ale." He scowled then proceeded to down the entire thing anyway.

"What's surprising about that?" Victor returned to his own fish and chips, his own glass of brandy left untouched. It was perhaps a little early to start drinking. It was just a little past noon.

"I expected something Russian. Like borscht, or stroganoff, or I don't know maybe piroshky." He eyed Victor's brandy longingly. Victor sighed and handed his glass over.

"I try to exceed expectations." Victor laughed goodheartedly. Eros rolled his eyes and sipped Victor's glass of brandy without further comment.

"Aren't you drinking too much?" Victor felt concerned at Eros' alcohol consumption. He merely waved his hand in dismissal.

"I need it. Liquid courage. For later." He didn't elaborate much further and Victor didn't need explanation. Whatever Eros was doing later, Victor figured it must be tough enough that he needed to drown himself into tipsiness. His cheeks were beginning to flush red from the alcohol.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that they weren't here for games and lunch dates. Sometimes it was too easy to forget that they weren't on the same side. Sometimes, Victor wished they met normally without pretenses and alliances.

Eros slipped in Victor's room later that night, face flushed and just a tad bit tipsy. He stripped down and took Victor, making him submit at a single glance.

He fucked him, eyes ablaze with feral desire and untamed power.

Perhaps he was a bit drunk. He smelled of cheap liquor and blood. Bruises littered in his skin. Not the one that was made from suggestive acts, but rather like that from a brawl.

When they both reached climax, Eros fixed himself, wore back his clothes then went on his way like nothing happened. Victor stared at his retreating figure blankly as the post orgasmic haze settled down.

Victor felt like an idiot for thinking they'd be so much more.

But when he woke up, there was a bouquet of lilies sitting on top of his desk and a single note with a 'sorry.' written hurriedly.

And just like that, Victor didn't know what to think anymore.

 

* * *

 

 

"Tea or coffee?" Victor poured himself a mug of the latter. The man across him scrunched his nose.

"Neither. I'd rather have vodka, thanks."

This time Eros wore a white button down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His suit jacket was draped on the back of his seat. His hair was still black and slicked back, just like months ago. He also had wire framed glasses perched on his nose. Victor thought he looked charming.

Save for the fake mustache. Victor found it hilarious.

"You sure do love alcohol," Victor murmured with amusement. "I'm starting to think you have a problem."

"Oh sure. I smoke and drink alcohol a lot. Something that comes together with the job description least you want to lose your sanity." Eros smiled saccharinely, setting the newspaper on the sleek mahogany table.

"Well, we don't exactly have the luxury of alcohol, so tea or coffee?"

"You're no fun. I know you have a secret stash of vodka in there," When Victor gave him an unimpressed look. He huffed.

"Fine, coffee." Victor wordlessly pours him a mug of black coffee and passes it across the table.

He took one look at the mug and whined with disdain. Eros reached for the jar of sugar and unceremoniously dumped spoonfuls. Then proceeded with the milk. He stirred the sweet concoction.

Victor smothered his laughter with his hand. It earned him an annoyed glare.

"What?"

"Nothing it's just-" Victor giggled at the man who somehow needed spoonfuls of sugar for his coffee. "For a person who loves alcohol, you seem to hate black coffee."

"Oh piss off." Eros rolled his eyes and continued stirring his mug. He took a sip and immediately blanched. He dumped the rest of the sugar on his coffee. "How do you even manage to drink it so bitter?"

"It's an acquired taste I suppose." Victor shrugged.

"Don't you put jam in your tea to sweeten it?" He murmured against his cup. Eros downed the beverage like you would with tequila, slamming it on the table after he shuddered.

"Some. Not me. I like it hot and black." As if to prove his point, Victor sipped his own mug gracefully.

Eros muttered under his breath. Something that sounded suspiciously incriminating. It was muttered in a different language though, so he had no means of actually knowing what it was. Victor shot him an infuriatingly sweet smile.

Victor expected the eye roll he received in return.

 

* * *

 

"Do you like dogs?" Was a question that came up when they were sitting on a bench by the park. It was winter then, Eros wore little to protect himself from the weather. Just a sweater, jeans and a blue knitted hat. Unlike Victor who was dressed well with his grey Burberry coat, black scarf and leather gloves. Victor considered giving his scarf to his companion more than once.

"I think I adore them too much," Eros eyed the dog trotting along with its master. A golden retriever. "I once raised one myself you know, back then."

"Really? What kind?"

"A toy poodle. Lovely brown fur. I found him on the streets. It was snowing too." Eros stared at his own hands instead, which played with the hem of his loose sweater.

"I've always wanted to have one," Victor mused. "What happened to him?"

Eros pressed his lips together, his hands trembled as he clutched his sweater. The knuckles turned white like the fallen sheets of snow.

"They shot him."

"Oh."

Silence had befallen them. Only the sound of the wind howling was heard and the soft crunching of snow from the people's footsteps.

"Well," Eros began softly. "They made me do it. Said I had to be able to kill without hesitation. I couldn't. They did it instead," Hs gave out a shuddering breath. "No mercy, no hesitation, no attachments."

He let go of his sweater with a resigned sigh. His shoulders hunched, head bowed down in contemplation.

"I'm sorry." Victor mumbled in a clumsy attempt of showing empathy. Eros shook his head.

"Don't be."

Victor knew he didn't need to, but he offered a story of his own.

"My first kill was when I was sixteen," Victor offered.

Eros turned to him just slightly with a curious look. Victor took that as a sign to continue.

“It wasn’t really grand. It just…happened. And now…here I am.”

They fell silent after that, content on watching the snow fall, filling the park with a blanket of white and cold.

That night, they did it slower. There weren't any scratches, no more desperate screams of harder, or faster.

It was savored, cared. Eros whispered words to him with reverence in what Victor thought was Japanese, and would be helpless in understanding, but their meaning were well received.

 

* * *

 

"Never pegged you the type to like Vera Lynn."

Eros didn't turn from the balcony, didn't even bother looking at Victor. He was chain smoking once more.

Victor decided to sit on one of Eros' couches. There was a soft melody from Eros' phone, a sweet and calm melody.

"I'm surprised you recognize her." Was Eros' reply. This time he did turn around, a faint smile on his lips.

"I only do because my mother dislikes anything from the English and this song kept playing in our radio, strangely enough. She's a Frenchwoman through and through." Victor chuckled.

The mellow voice of the singer rang clear in the room, a certain haunting tone that casted an air of bittersweet melancholia. There was an unsettling feeling of longing in her voice that Victor couldn't help sigh.

"Such depressing songs on a lovely day."

"Is it?" Eros inhaled a drag of smoke, his eyes were often distant when he smoked. There's a certain glassiness in his stare, a distracted tapping of his fingers.

The day wasn't exactly lovely. It was raining, the sky was grey and so was the room. It didn't help that the lights were dimmed out. Eros had a pensive look in his face and his tapping--Victor finally noticed--were slowly matching the beat of the song.

"You don't get to say a thing about my music taste when you love opera."

Victor smirked. "What makes you say I like the opera?"

"Just a hunch," Eros leaned against the railings of the balcony. "You looked like the type to like them."

"Do I?" Victor laughed. "There isn't anything wrong with them."

"No," Eros took a drag of his cigarette. "There really isn't." He went back to having his gaze to a faraway place.

The song changed into a slightly cheerful one, although its longing didn't recede in the slightest.

_You'll never know how just much I miss you, you'll never know just how much I care..._

"So...Why Vera Lynn?" Victor prompted. Eros blinked, a little disgruntled at the question.

_...and if I try, I still couldn't hide, my love for you..._

"Hm? Oh. Yes why indeed," He said it more as a statement rather than a question. The drumming of his fingers matched the song still. "Perhaps because it was all I could listen to back then."

_...You want to know, but haven't I told you so? A million or more times..._

"Back then?" Victor crossed his arms.

"Yes. When I was younger. They had stacks of her songs. I'd play it at night when it got too quiet. I hate the quiet." Victor barely caught the last part, said in nothing more than a whisper. There was a furrow between his brows. Victor wanted to smooth it over with his thumb.

_...you went away and my heart went with you..._

"Why?"

Eros looked away, a soft sigh escaped his lips and his brows furrowed deeper. There was something vulnerable in the way he smiled. It was sad, pained and tight lipped. Restrained was the word, and yet beautiful all the same.

"Everybody have their fears. Everybody also have their ways of coping with them."

_...I speak your name in my every breath..._

Victor loosed a breath. The man before him felt too fragile, too precious. He also looked so sad, aching. Victor wished to hold him, protect him. He swallowed a lump in his throat and asked, the question soft and quiet.

"What are you afraid of?"

_.....if there was some other way to prove that I love you, I swear I don't know how..._

Eros faced him. His eyes were sobering, uncanny. A certain feeling of solemnness swirled within those dark eyes, slowly swallowing Victor inside.

_...you'll never know if you don't know now..._

His tapping stopped and just as quiet, he answered.

"Everything."

 

* * *

 

 

When Victor woke up the next day, he was surprised to see Eros curled up next to him, asleep and vulnerable.

The sight did so many things to Victor's chest. He didn't know how long he stared at him before going back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

"You look like you're in a good mood."

Victor smiled. His handler sat across him for breakfast. Yakov didn't change at all.

"It's because I am." Victor smiled, a true, genuine one. It was alarming how rare it was for him to do that nowadays. It's also alarming how long it took him to realize that fact.

Yakov stared at him keenly. Yakov often look like he's studying Victor, unlike Yuuri though, there isn't any wonder in his eyes, no curious sparkle, only cold scrutiny.

"Whatever it is Alyosha, it better not bring trouble." Yakov said gruffly. He was what Victor considered to be his father figure. Maybe that's why he'd see through Victor most of the time.

Victor didn't let his smile slip. "Whatever gave you the idea that I'm up to something Yakov?"

Yakov didn't look amused. He almost never did. "You have this bad habit of latching on to dangerous things Alyosha. It has always been your weakness. It's why you're here after all."

Victor stopped midway eating his pancakes.

Too much. It was too much.

His grip on the cutlery tightened, knuckles turning white. He needed to keep his smile together.

"There's no need to worry about me Yakov." Victor assured. Yakov stared at him for the longest time. Victor loved Yakov as a father. He's probably the closest to Victor in that regard. But sometimes, he could be suffocating.

Then again, everything felt so suffocating nowadays.

Yakov finally relented after a long stare down. If he was convinced, or if he just decided that it wasn't worth his time, Victor didn't know. He did hope it was the former.

"Very well then." Yakov slid a folder towards Victor. There was coarseness in Yakov's actions, a thing that had always been there. It was a curious thing how Victor became the refined being that he was now. "Here is your new assignment."

Victor picked up the brown Kraft folder and inspected the papers inside, perhaps a bit disenchanted, but elegant all the same. Victor furrowed his brows at seeing the contents of the files. This very much was surprising.

"Yakov," Victor began. He tossed the files back on the table. "You didn't warn me about going to New York fashion week."

 

* * *

 

 

Victor adjusted his tie. The runway lights were blinding, and honestly a bit exhilarating. Victor reveled in the feeling. But the social function he's in was getting too dull now. He's got what he needed anyway. He just have to wait a few more minutes before leaving.

Victor checked his watch.

Taking up a cover as a famous model was exhausting. Victor often wondered how people fell for it.

He supposed that's people for you. You show them some fancy paper, a Wikipedia page, a large sum of cash, and clothes to fit the deal, then they'll immediately believe you. People should really check their sources before believing anyone.

He shouldn't complain. It makes his job easier. But Victor didn't really want to dwell on that thought.

The room was almost suffocating. The champagne in his system was buzzing inside him. He moved towards the corridor, the sudden silence was welcomed.

Leaning into the wall, he exhaled a deep breath.

He'd taken enough pictures and given enough autographs to probably to last a lifetime. He was tired. Victor shrugged off his suit coat and rolled up his sleeves.

He heard footsteps approaching him. The figure stopped just a few feet away from him. Victor buried his face in his hand, before facing the man, plastering a smile on his lips.

"Commemorative photo? Sure."

The man laughed. It wasn't harsh, but it wasn't exactly warm. It just simply is. And it sounded familiar.

"You seem pretty full of yourself to think that I'd want a photo with you." He leaned on the wall next to Victor, a pack of cigarettes on hand.

"Eros."

Victor wasn't sure why he was still surprised. He'd been seeing Eros almost everywhere.

"Alexander." Eros nodded to him. A cigarette on one hand and a lighter on the other.

Victor didn't know why he felt odd at having his alias called.

"Should I ask why you are here?" Victor turned to the man. He wore a fitting two piece suit, making him look more delectable than ever. Victor wanted to take that suit off of his body before devouring him. But the powder blue tie clashed with the entire get up.

Victor's fingers twitched. He so wanted to rip that tie off.

"I want to smoke. Can't do that in the ballroom." Eros took a lungful of nicotine. His eyes were a little bit haunted. He looked calm in a sense where he's spending much energy trying to stay calm.

"You shouldn't smoke you know. It's bad for your health." Victor chided with humor. He slid down the hallway wall, sitting on the carpeted floor.

"Funny you should say that." Eros slid beside him, sitting crossed legged, emitting so much warmth. He gave a half-hearted gesture. "We're going to die anyway."

"You say it as if you are certain you're dying." Victor laughed humorlessly.

Eros shrugged. "Death is inevitable, is it not? Especially in this line of work." He blew smoke from his lips, wisps of pale grey swirled before them. The dull lights in the hallway made it even drabber. It was lulling Victor to sleep.

"I suppose it’s also nice to see the beauty in life before death." Victor smiled. What a funny conversation. A balcony would've been a better place to talk. It would've been more romantic, yet here they were, sitting on the carpeted floor. The middle of the corridor wasn't exactly ideal, and the ugly beige wallpaper didn't scream romantic.

"Do you really believe that?" Eros frowned, staring at his cigarette. Dark lashes fluttered against pale skin. Victor found it fascinating.

"Believe in what?"

"In the beauty of life." Eros elaborated. He scrunched his nose just a bit, like he often did when he wanted to express something.

"I do." Victor smiled. "I'm seeing it in front of me." Victor met Eros' eyes. For a while, he looked bewildered.

"You don't mean that." Eros turned away as he composed himself. The ashes from his cigarette fell on the carpet.

"I do." Victor insisted, because he did mean it. "You are very beautiful."

Eros licked his lips. Victor followed the action with his eyes. "And if I tell you that I don't believe you, what will you do?"

Victor watched through heavy lidded eyes.

"Perhaps I'll just show you." 

There's charged silence between them, half formed words exchanged, half-finished sentences to half-finished conversations hidden in the quietness of the night. Tension. Both were waiting for the first move, unwilling to be the first to surrender.

Anticipation. Victor could feel his hands sweating, breaths rising in pattern. How does Eros keep still among this? How does he keep his face in neutral interest when all Victor wanted to do was ravish him?

This shouldn't be different. They've done this before. So why does it feel like the first time all over again?

Then the most extraordinary thing happened.

Eros leaned in to capture Victor's lips. His eyes fluttered close, inhaling a deep breath of surprise.

"Alexander."

Victor paused.

But Eros was kissing him again. This time dirtier, tongues and teeth clacking. Hands wandered along their bodies. Victor moaned, feeling pleasure shooting up from his body, pulse beating like drums in his veins. His body was singing with heat.

His lips didn’t feel soft. It was rough and chapped from being bitten down. It wasn’t like how the books described kissing was. It wasn’t even like his previous attempts at romance, but Victor never wanted the moment to stop, and it was glorious, and kissing Eros was all he ever dreamed of.

Air became a necessity, and very reluctantly, Victor broke away, panting and flushed from all that. He wondered why they’ve never kissed before, wondered how they could have possibly waited for this moment for such pleasure.

There was no such truer moment than this. Victor’s soul laid bare for Eros to see.

Eros whispered his name again.

Except it wasn't really his name. No. It was his alias. It wasn't him at all. It was but a false persona. Victor didn't want this to be false, he didn't want for this to be all but a lie. Victor wanted to believe in this.

"Victor." He rasped out.

"Hm?" Eros stopped prepping kisses down Victor's chest, looking up to him in question. He was nearly on top of Victor, half sitting on his lap.

"Call me Victor, please. Victor Nikiforov." He gasped out. When was the last time he was called by his name?

Eros nodded in understanding.

"Victor." He whispered, testing the intricacies of the name. It felt heavenly in Victor's ears.

"My room. It's just a few floors up."

 

* * *

 

 

"Will you ever tell me your name?" Victor asked as they lie together on the bed after sex. Only the light from the window illuminated the room.

Eros blinked blearily at him, shaking the drowsiness threatening to swallow him.

"I have no name," He began. "We were given numbers, that's all. We are soldiers without a past, present, or future. No ties, no commitments."

Victor began to trace imaginary patterns on Eros bare back. In turn, he clung tighter to Victor. There were scars all over his back, scratches, burns, bruises, evidences of the life they've led. The violence of it. Brutal, yet to Victor it was beautiful. Every inch of this man was beautiful.

"Do you want one though?" Victor broke the silence. "A name, I mean."

Eros didn't answer for a while. Victor thought he'd already fallen asleep. Then he answered quietly. "No one's ever asked that before."

"That's not an answer."

There was blankness. Then there was question. A short blink of his eyes, then resignation. "I suppose I do," Eros answered. Timid, open, and honest. "I think it would be nice to have one."

"And what name would you want for yourself?" Victor pressed a kiss on Eros' hair. They smell of roses and a whiff of cigarettes. He finally figured out what they were.

"Here I thought you were going to pick it out for me." Eros huffed playfully. He rolled to his back, covering his face with his hands.

Victor shrugged, or would if they were sitting. "It's personal. I think you should get to choose."

Eros stared at him. He tapped his fingers on the mattress. He's thinking.

"Yuuri." It was soft. The sharpness of his tone was dulled with drowsiness.

"Yuuri." Victor repeated, lacing his fingers around Eros' hand. Eros locked them together with a grip.

"In kanji, it would mean courage to win," He drew Victor's palm closer to him, inspecting it like it was the most fascinating thing in this room.

That would be a lie though, the most fascinating thing in this room was pressed next to Victor in bed.

"It also mean lilies in Japanese." He continued.

"My favorite flower." Victor mused. Eros ran his thumb over the callouses in Victor's palm, soothing them over, pressing them to his lips in such tender ways.

"Yes," He whispered into the palm.

"Lilies can mean rebirth, renewal." Victor whispered back.

"Hm," Eros took Victor's other palm. "Katsuki," He kissed every knuckle with reverence. And then he traced the letters on his palm, unfamiliar yet gentle strokes of kanji, soft and fond. "It means born to win."

"You have given this a thought before." Victor chuckled, lacing their fingers once more.

"Perhaps." He said nothing more, not unkindly, no.

"Yuuri Katsuki," Victor tested its weight with his lips, tasted the feel of the words with his own tongue. "Katsuki Yuuri. I like it."

Eros-- No Yuuri smiled fondly, pressing a soft kiss against Victor's lips.

That was the night where Victor had met Katsuki Yuuri. Not an agent, spy, soldier, patriot, or a nameless phantom, but Katsuki Yuuri who loves dogs, who loves to listen to Vera Lynn, who doesn't mind the cold. He truly met the man who cannot drink bitter coffee, and yet loves alcohol with a passion. The man who loves blue roses, the man who smells like roses and cigarettes which he gets from chain smoking. 

Lying next to him was Katsuki Yuuri, who was curled up under the blankets, small and afraid of many many things, yet he wakes up every day and fights them because he's brave like that.

Victor supposed, he wouldn't have hoped to meet him in any other way.

 

* * *

 

 

"Have you ever wondered what we'd be doing if we aren't...well, you know...like this?" Victor tried to distract himself from the blood that was currently on his hands. He wasn't exactly the best in stitching up wounds, but he'd have to make do.

"That is," Yuuri groaned. "A funny thought." He grimaced at the pain. He was still shirtless. His back faced Victor, who could see all of the scars he carried on them. Now, with a new one added to the collection.

Victor woke up to the loud rapping on his window. He was taken aback when it revealed a Yuuri Katsuki, leaning on the wall with the most arrogant face before collapsing into Victor's arms.

He remembered seeing so much blood dampening his shirt. A horrible gash was bleeding on his back, a sight Victor wouldn't forget so easily.

It wasn't deep enough to cause complications on his spine, but if it wasn't treated soon, he was going to die from blood loss. Victor supposed he'd woken to worse, but he really did appreciate a notice.

"Is it?" He gave a humorless chuckle as he scrubbed the remaining blood from his hands. The crimson water flowed down the drain listlessly. "It doesn't hurt to imagine."

Victor's gaze lingered at Yuuri's back. He was itching to touch it once more, to trace the lines of his scars, to map them with his fingers. He wanted to know their nuances, their stories. Instead, Victor restrained himself and moved on.

"Mhm," Yuuri lit himself a cigarette. The smoke still made Victor's eyes water, but the smell was growing on him. It was strange, and just for a bit, Victor wondered if he was going to die from second hand smoke.

That implied that he'd be spending more time with Yuuri to actually die from second hand smoke. Now that he thought about it, that wasn't entirely bad a thought.

"Here."

He unceremoniously opened a bottle of Vodka and set two glasses on the table. He poured Yuuri a glass, who took it with a silent thanks.

Victor then proceed to take a swig, altogether abandoning the glass and drank directly from the bottle.

"Asshole." Yuuri chuckled before drinking his own share.

"You don't get to say a thing when you just barged in without warning--"

"I didn't just barge in. I knocked."

"--in the middle of the night, bleeding all over." 

Yuuri tipped his head back in silent laughter. He shook with glee, and his eyes squeezed shut. He still looked lovely despite the weariness hanging on his shoulders, chaining him, a sign of mortality, of being human.

Victor wondered if he too, had a gaunt look on his face. If he had death looming over his shadow too. He supposed he did, death was an old friend after all.

"Take care of yourself Yuuri."

Victor found himself saying when Yuuri's laughter died out. His shut eyes fluttered open, revealing perfectly sober eyes, shining with a certain darkness.

"What are we Victor?" Yuuri put out his cigarette on the ash tray. Victor had put in mind to have one wherever he goes, just in case.

" _'What are we'_ , such a strange question." Victor eyed the flickering ashes of the cigarette before meeting those dark eyes.

"We are neither heroes, nor patriots. We aren't saints nor are we sinners. Not gods, not angels, and not devils either, so what are we?" The room felt somber with that question in mind.

"We're only humans Yuuri," Victor finally said. "Only humans, capable of making mistakes and capable of righting those mistakes."

"Righting those mistakes huh?" Yuuri closed his eyes once more, a small smile graced his face.

Victor left his impromptu guest alone with his thoughts for the night. He wondered what Yuuri could've been thinking throughout the night.

 

* * *

 

 

So, Swan Lake?” Yuuri sat next to him in their own private box in Bolshoi, where they could watch and talk without any prying ears. It doesn’t exactly make any of them less tense, but the privacy was appreciated, though Yuuri did level up his disguise for tonight just for extra precaution. Yuuri chuckled. “Could you get any more cliché?”

Victor shrugged. “What can I say? My mother is a Frenchwoman through and through.”

The curtain rose and the opening scene commenced. The sound of strings and percussion echoed. Minstrels and servants holding up trays of goblets entered the stage, a cheerful song was played by the orchestra. Yuuri leaned back on his seat as he watched the figures dancing on stage. He stayed that way for most of the time, until Odette entered the scene. Victor stole glances from him occasionally, and he seemed conflicted, though seemingly not so obvious. But Victor knew a semblance of how Yuuri’s inner mind worked. And with the way he tapped his fingers, he was thinking.

"What do you think you'd be doing if you hadn't end up like this?" Yuuri voiced out his thoughts after a long moment of silence. His dark eyes never left his gaze from the dancers. Odette danced with Seigfreid, her leg pointed to the heavens with seemingly little effort.

"I distinctly remember you saying that it was a silly thought." Victor chuckled. Seigfreid seemed to follow Odette, while the latter ran away with dainty, graceful steps. Yuuri smirked. "I also distinctly remember you saying that it doesn't hurt to imagine."

Victor laughed. The prince and the swan queen seemed to be in a sweeping chase. "You always have something to say, don't you?"

"Of course, and I know you want to hear me talk so you aren't in any position to complain."  Yuuri gave him a knowing look and Victor would be lying if he said he didn't find Yuuri speaking to him in rapid Russian distracting. With their line of work, they had to be equipped with an array of languages, hearing him talk was a definite bonus. Victor wondered if Yuuri was willing to take some of the conversation to bed.

"Well... I'd be a figure skater." Victor smiled faintly. Yuuri looked beautiful even in the dark. He wanted to immortalize this image forever.

"A...figure skater?" He shrugged when Yuuri gave him the most disbelieving look he could possibly manage.

"Yes. Five times consecutive world and grand Prix champion. Hottest bachelor in the world." Victor gave an exaggerated flourish on his bow, grace akin to that of the dancers on stage.

"How humble." Yuuri rolled his eyes.

"Indeed,” Victor murmured softly and he turned his attention back on the dance. The ballet passed in a flurry of music and dancing, the graceful arc of bodies, the flow of their arms, the flourish of pointed toes from pirouettes and jetes. Soon enough, the black swan came in with her entree, the Pas De Deux begun.

“I'd adopt a poodle and name her Makkachin,” Victor began again. Yuuri peeked at him just slightly. “She would have chocolate brown fur and she would love pork buns. She would sleep next to me in bed and she would stay with me forever." Victor kept his eyes on the black swan and her sharp movements, like a blade. She demanded the attention of the room.

"You've certainly given this much thought." Yuuri too was unable to look away. Rothbart gestured on the side, the magical dance was all but a deceit, but even so, it was also most highly acclaimed.

"Yes. And you would be there too." Victor replied. Seigfreid knew nothing of the double facet of his partner.

"Oh? And how, pray tell, will I be part of that world?" Yuuri kept his gaze at the black swan still as he whispered his reply softly. A liar, that's who she was for she was not Odette, but Odile after all. Coquettish, seductive, and conniving.

"In any way you want. It's your pick." Victor turned to Yuuri who was all but transfixed to the dance, whose fingers twitched ever so slightly. Odile tried to convince Seigfreid that she was indeed the swan queen, his swan queen, and he unknowingly believed.

"Then, I want to be the man hated as he took you away from the world," He watched the black swan launch into thirty two fouettes, bringing the dance into a climax. "I want to be the man who you chose despite anybody you could pick." The Pas de Deux ended with Seigfreid on his knees, kissing Odile's hand in proposal, whilst Odette despaired.

"But my lily, I've already chosen you." Victor sincerely expressed, taking Yuuri's hand gently into his own. Yuuri stayed silent, and for a moment Victor was nervous, but Yuuri grasped his hand back, and with a whisper of his own, he said:

"I chose you too."

 

* * *

 

 

"You're distracted."

Victor tore his gaze from the train's window to the man sitting across him. He withdrew his hand from the blue scarf he was fingering fondly just awhile ago.

His handler knocked him out of his daydream. Yakov had a stern look on his face, as he always had. The newspaper he was just reading was abandoned in lieu of a what Victor assumed, a berating.

He waved it off with an easy flourish, pasting a quick smile on his lips. "I'm not." He's quick to cover up, despite Yakov absolutely seeing through it.

How could Victor not be distracted? When his mind was off to the beach, breathing in the salty breeze from the sea, hearing waves crash upon the sand as they walked on the shore.

In a different time, he was walking beside a Yuuri Katsuki with a pensive look on his face as both of them greeted the dark sky. His pants was rolled up and he was barefoot, feeling the freezing waters as it lapped on his toes, leaving footprints on the sand, only for the waves to take them away and leave no trace of the impression he left on this earth all while he carried his own sneakers on his other hand. It all felt surreal. The scene looked almost straight out of a painting.

"You seem distant," Victor then said, staring at Yuuri's hands hidden inside the pocket of his gray hoodie. He felt his own hand twitch. "It looks like something is bothering you."

Yuuri was silent then, thinking of what he should say, he's always thinking of what to say. He's always careful, unlike Victor who couldn't keep his mouth shut. Victor then only realized his carelessness.

"Many things bother me Victor. It really isn't news at this point. You once did too, you know." That was evasion. Yuuri didn't want to answer his question. He often did this when he wanted to hide something. Victor was starting to notice these things. He indulged him for now.

"I used to bother you?" Victor shuddered from the cold. He decided to tuck his hands inside the pockets of his coat. Yuuri eyed him suspiciously before replying.

"Yes. You still do until now, but in a different way." Yuuri shrugged.

"Is it better now?"

"Perhaps."

And Yuuri said nothing more.

There were seagulls flying ahead. Their cries echoed along the shore, bringing Victor back to a memory from the past.

"The seagulls' cry reminds me of Saint Petersburg. When I was young, I never thought I'd leave the city. Did you ever have those thoughts when you were young?"

Yuuri paused, the salty sea breeze blew on them, whipping his blue scarf along the biting cold. Yuuri just never seemed bothered by the cold, Victor often worried for him. It was a bit comforting to see him wear a scarf at the very least.

“No, not really. It was...different for me.” Yuuri laid his sneakers on the shore and sat on the sand, just a little away from the waves, but close enough to still feel them on his toes. He looked pretty serious, his mind so far away. Victor would have thought he wasn’t next to him anymore if it wasn’t from the warmth he felt from being close.

“How did it start? With you? I mean,” Yuuri gestured at them. ”how did you end up in this life?” 

Victor wondered where this was coming from. "I was fourteen and with all honesty, an idiot," He laughed humorlessly. "Someone told me I could use my skills for the motherland instead of letting it go to waste."

"Your handler."

"Yes."

It was a little past five and the sky turned into different shades of blue. There were more seagulls flying up ahead in flocks. Victor suppressed a shiver.

"He promised me different resources to avenge my mother's death." The air between them had gotten quiet.

"Was she killed?"

"Murdered."

Victor stared at the waves. It crashes on the shore and levels the sand eventually. It crashes on edged rocks and it takes something little by little, smoothing it over time.

Time was like the ocean. It dulled things slowly without one even knowing.

Quietly Yuuri asked. "And did you? Avenge her, I mean."

"Yes." Victor's reply was just as soft. The sky was giving the first hues of pink and purples and yellows.

"And was it worth it?" Yuuri followed. "Was selling your soul for the blood of one man worth it?"

Was it worth it?

Victor smiled and laughed with cheer. Two can play in this game. "How about you? How did you end up here?"

"I walked with you. Barefoot even." Yuuri snickered.

"Smartass." A cold gust of wind blew. Victor was unable to hide his shiver this time. Yuuri appeared to have noticed this for he started to unravel his blue scarf and wrap it around Victor.

"Wha-"

"Just take it. I don't mind the cold." Yuuri insisted. Victor could smell Yuuri's scent from those that clung on the scarf. It smelled of smoke, a bit of roses and this time, gun powder.

Yuuri gave a tiny quirk up his lip. "There's nothing much to say. I grew up in a training facility. I was five then.

"My family died in a car crash and I am the sole survivor. They took me, an orphan who saw death flash through his eyes and decided he was going to be a spy.

"By eight I was proficient in combat. By ten I was proficient in weapons. At twelve, I spoke five languages at the very least. I was fourteen and I've seen countless die. So on and so forth. They raise you young from where I came from," Yuuri shrugged. His eyes swimming with different thoughts.

"I'm sorry." Victor could only say.

"No need for apologies. Nobody could have known. Otherwise I won't be here." Yuuri frowned as he rummaged his pockets and drew out an empty packet of cigarettes. He sighed and played with his lighter instead. Victor's gaze lingered on the light as it sparked into fire. Yuuri flickered it on, then off, then on once more.

"For what it’s worth Yuuri," Victor stood up, dusting the sand from his pants. "At least it got me to meet you."

The sun was breaking out from the horizon, casting a lovely golden glow at them. The seagulls cried in the sunrise, but the smile Yuuri gave him was brighter than any sunrise, brighter than any sun or star.

"You never fail to surprise me."

Victor didn't know what part of what he said then was surprising. In fact, Victor still fails to understand Yuuri more often than he would like. But he'd always have the sea and the sunrise. He'd always have cold sea breezes and a blue scarf, walking barefoot on the sand, and the cries of seagulls to remember.

He leaned on the train window, smiling softly at the memory.

 

* * *

 

 

"Agent Arlovskaya. This is a surprise."

A lady entered the elevator, her red, chin length hair was attention grabbing, paired with wonderful blue eyes. She smiled at him, just a little fond and delighted.

"Agent Ivanovsky." She acknowledged, stepping into the lift. "It's rare to see you back in Moscow."

Agent Katerina Arlovskaya. One of Victor's old colleague. Graduated the academy a few years after Victor's rise in fame. She's a whirlwind contained in a woman, a force to be reckoned with. Victor grinned.

"As are you, and please we aren't in a mission." Victor said. He's grown a distaste for his alias. Funny how he seemed so proud about it just a few years ago.

"It's more fun this way." She replied, manicured fingers pressing the close button.

Victor decided not to answer and changed the subject instead.

"How was Italy?"

"Lovely." The elevator door shut close. Soft music played in the background. "A little too sunny in my opinion but the men were as lovely as ever."

"I take Crispino is still as strict and protective of her sister." Victor chuckled.

"That's stupid. Sara doesn't need protection." She grumbled. "I've seen her take down men twice her size."

"A Russian asset in Milan could use all the protection." Victor shrugged. Crispino knew nothing about her sister being technically a Russian spy. If the need comes, someone is sure to attest to her innocence. It's also convenient that the Crispinos are one of the most influential families in Italy.

"Would be great if he actually allows me to see her for a change." She huffed. "On the other hand, I heard all about Vegas."

Victor groaned. "Katya, don't."

"I'm actually surprised. You aren't usually distracted when on the job. Saw something pretty?" Katya giggled.

"Katya..." Victor sighed. The incident from three years ago was a stain from his near pristine mission record, and resulted in a long berating in Yakov’s office.

"Must hurt your ego. You managed to lose important documents." She smothered her laugh.

Victor pasted an unimpressed look, very much like what Yuuri would give him. Damn, he's starting to take Yuuri's mannerism. How most peculiar, they don't see often--not as often as Victor would have wanted--and yet here he was, taking in Yuuri's little nuances, little habits and actions. 

Victor inhaled a sharp breath. He could remember the first time they met like it was just yesterday instead of three years. 

Here's the thing, he didn't feel bad about it. Perfection isn't worth it, not when in exchange he could meet the most beautiful being, not when he's felt alive in the first time in years. One wrong turn lead him to curiosity, the decision to stay lead him to devotion. If you ask him, he's took more than he originally planned. That day on Vegas was far from being a loss.

"Don't look so glum. I'm sure one mistake wouldn't kill you." Katya said. 

But it did, and it still does. That one mistake killed him everyday in the best possible way, only to revive him again the next day. Victor smiled instead. "No, I suppose it wouldn't."

The elevator door stopped at Victor's floor, the highest floor where director Baronovskaya's resides. Nobody really saw her leave the office, so everyone just assumed she lived there. He furrowed his brows "Do you have an appointment with director Baronovskaya?"

Both of them stepped out of the lift, heading towards the huge mahogany door. "No, she called me. Haven't you heard? She's transferring your assignment to me." Katya tilted her head.

Victor stopped on his tracks.

"What?"

"Yeah. She's reassigning you to Barcelona." Katya looked back, a questioning look plastered on his face.

"Oi move it." A kid with blond hair and bottle green eyes glared at Victor. "Are you gonna hog the damn hallway? I'm trying to leave here."

Victor nearly jumped from shock. He didn't notice the kid's presence all this time. He didn't even hear his footsteps. The boy had a bowl cut, the grumpiest expression written all over his face, and the rather obvious bandage wrapped around his hands.

There was something different with this kid, something Victor couldn't place. He stared him down. Blue eyes met against green.

Victor saw the eyes of a soldier.

"Whatever." The kid grumbled, breaking the moment as he walked away. His shirt was too big for him and he was probably no older than twelve, yet the way he walked made him look gaunt, tired. Almost as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Victor didn't like it. He reminded him too much of himself, and perhaps just a little bit of Yuuri.  Eveything reminded him of Yuuri nowadays.

"Alyosha?" Victor snapped out of it.

"Yes Mila?"

She frowned.

"You don't usually call me by my real name. In fact, we never call each other by our real names."

"Ah, my mistake." Victor pasted on a smile. "Where were we?"

 

* * *

 

A stubbled man sat on the patio, wearing only a bathrobe and slippers.

"You never really visit me nowadays Alyosha. The last time was nearly four years ago." He sipped from his glass of wine, dark tinted Gucci shades covering his eyes.

"Chris. It's been awhile." Victor nursed his own cup of tea. It was cold outside, the cracking fire made the room warmer.

"Yes. You only ever call me when you need something." Chris huffed. "Cheer up. I know you are busy, but a postcard from Moscow would be nice."

"The view in Petersburg is better." Victor set his cup on the lacquered table, feeling drowsy from the heat from the fireplace and the softness if the cushions he was sitting on.

Chris huffed. He took off his Gucci shades, revealing bright hazel eyes. "The view in Geneva is the best."

Victor directed his gaze at the Swiss alps before him. The crisp smell of pine and snow overpowered him, it was unfamiliar and yet it wasn't strange.

"What do you think of Barcelona?” Victor started.

Chris perked up.

“I think it’s lovely. The food is nice, the architecture grandiose. Sagrada Familia is a place to visit, but I love the more low-key places. Every city has its own special place if you know where to look,” Chris replied. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing really.” Victor said, but Chris knew him enough to know there was a more hidden meaning behind his words. So he stood up and opened his collection of spirits and liquor, taking his time to choose one.

In a strange moment, all Victor thought was how Yuuri would react in seeing such an extensive and rare collection of alcohol. Victor was often thinking of Yuuri nowadays. It’s rather endearing how he sees him in the little things. It felt intimate.

"So what is it about this time?" Chris brought a rather old bottle of wine and two new glasses, however Victor couldn't seem to care about its exact age and brand. Either way, free wine is free wine.

He stared at the blood red substance as it filled half the wine glass with contemplation.

"They're suspecting a mole." Victor picked up the glass, examining it. Crystal. Nothing less from the Giacometti household.

"In Barcelona?" Chris didn't look surprised, just mildly intrigued. Like it was an inconsequential thing for him. Victor envied him for that. Perhaps living in a perpetual neutral country had its perks.

"Yes." Victor replied instead. Opting for nonchalance, pushing down this concoction of feelings inside him and focused instead on business. "One more thing."

Victor wordlessly slid a box towards Chris, who in turn raised a brow.

"This is new." He picked it up and examined its contents curiously. He handled it as if it was the most priceless diamond. His delicate touch told of his skill and experience, as if he'd been seeing such priceless objects all his life. "You don't just hand these over, even when the Swiss bank is the safest option. You don't trust those."

"I know," Victor sipped from his glass of wine. "And they won't suspect me to do so either. I need you to keep it safe. I'll call for it when the need comes."

"They?" Chris slid a slip of paper, in exchange, eyes glued to the object at hand.

"It's better for you not to know." Victor checked the contents of the paper. When he found what he needed, he nodded and slipped it in his breast pocket.

Chris also slipped the box into his chest pocket. He reverted his attention back to Victor. His gaze was searching and Victor longed to see what he was seeing. It was a little unsettling to find hazel eyes staring at you.

"Something is holding you back." Chris finally broke the silence. It seemed that he'd found what he was looking for.

Victor snickered. "Something?" If it were only a thing, Victor would so easily figure it out. He wouldn't be in such a mess.

Chris rolled his eyes.

"Someone."

Victor didn't acknowledge it with an answer, but the knowing look on Chris' face confirmed that he didn't need to.

"You've been planning this for a long time now." Chris continued. "Are you really stalling it for someone you met?"

Victor didn't know where this sudden solemnity in Chris was coming from. The Swiss was usually light hearted. His demeanor right now was telling the exact opposite.

"It's complicated." Victor rubbed his temples. He mourned the emptiness of his glass. He needed more wine. God Yuuri really was rubbing on him, wasn't he?

"Your life is already complicated as it is Alyosha, don't complicate anymore than you need it to be."

Victor sighed. His head suddenly hurt from all of this. "He's worth it Chris."

"Is he really?"

Victor met hazel eyes. He thought of salty sea breezes, and the sound of waves as it crashed on the shore. He thought of sparkling brown eyes and a scar filled back. He thought of Vera Lynn playing in the night as the smell of smoke filled the fire escape and a silhouette hunched to himself as he hums to the music. He thought of early mornings where he wakes up and sees a sleeping Yuuri Katsuki, face teetering between dreams and nightmares and how Victor wanted to smoothen that crease between his brows.

Victor, without any doubt, answered. Unwavering.

"Yes."

 

* * *

 

 

Victor walked into his new cover, pressed suit and silk tie, a Burberry trench coat keeping him warm. His gloved hands were hidden in the pockets of his coat. The conference wouldn't start till next week. Hence, why he was currently sightseeing in Barcelona.

His heels clicked on the pavement. Confidence. He was smooth and suave, a lady killer, the image of a perfect gentleman.

Barcelona’s glittering lights were glittering beneath him. Men, women, children passing by, unaware of one man’s plight on the tower of Sagrada Familia. Victor envied them for it. Snow fell on the city, covering it in a blanket of white and it looked beautiful. Being on top made him feel powerful. To be able to feel such a feeling was such a divine thing to get addicted to, and a dangerous thing as well.

Sagrada Familia’s Passion façade was something to ponder about. The edgy and stark design was such a contrast to its Nativity façade. Many recommended the latter of course, but Victor was a man who loved surprises and who loved to be different. Yakov said he had a penchant for disobedience. He wasn’t going to deny that.

There was something in the frugal and elementary design that captured Victor’s interest. The suffering faces, the pained expression of the statues left a deep impression on Victor. It wasn’t as favored as the grand and soft statues in the nativity façade, and yet Victor found it charming.

He was just that, he supposed. Seeing charm in things that aren’t meant to be charming, finding appreciation in things better left untouched.

He could hear footsteps approaching him.

Familiar ones, mostly light but distinguishable only because he planned to be known. Victor felt his pulse quicken as the sound drew closer.

Then it stopped.

A man in a brown pea coat and blue beanie stopped beside him, mouth covered with a medical mask. Victor turned to his side, raising a brow. The corner of his lips quirked just slightly.

"Commemorative photo?"

Brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses peeked at him, they shimmered under the yellow glow of the lights. Victor's lips stretched into a full grin as a hand took off the medical mask from his mouth, pink lips cracked from the cold parted to murmur.

"Sure."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tl;dr: Victor and Yuuri played the longest game of 20 questions around the world and I just-
> 
> Wooooh okay how was it? DO TELL ME! COMMENTS AND KUDOS FUEL MY LIFE! but hahaha okay notes:
> 
> This is Victor's point of View, the next part would be Yuuri's (yes there's a next part don't worry. This is far from over.) POV and it'll prob pick off from here...probably.  
> The title comes form One Foot by Fun:. very catchy song hahaha It's stuck in my head help  
> Vera Lynn's songs are pretty bittersweet and angsty. Look her up sometime if u got the time. The song played was entitled "You'll Never Know". I stumbled upon her because of 3 reasons:  
> 1 My grandpa sings her songs all the time...especially when my grandma is trying to nitpick my grandpa (happy grandparent's day ya'll)  
> 2 I really reaaaaaallly love ww2 songs  
> 3 I read this pretty scarring WW2 au which featured her songs that was brilliant and bullshit at the same time. (The writer didn't finish it. It's fine I respect them but damn it haunts me till this day. I'll never know what happened to them. Literally became so depressed for like 2 years cause of it. If you know what fandom and fanfic I'm talking about than kudos to you!)  
> I literally cannot think of more notes to add so if ya'll have questions then just comment it or idk scream at me in tumblr  
> @ https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awesome-cookies-and-cream (Rip I still don't know how to do the link thing. I'll learn someday don't worry)
> 
> Edit: I remember more notes now! 
> 
> Sagrada Familia was planning 18 towers, As of now only 8 is finished. There are three facades in total. The Nativity facade, the Passion facade, and the glory facade. The glory facade is still under construction while the other 2 are done. I've never been to Sagrada Familia so correct me if I'm wrong
> 
> The Nativity facade depicts the births of Christ and is very extravagant and detailed. It was designed by Gaudi and stuff. Many often prefer this than the passion facade since the passion facade is pretty plain and edgy...haha no like literally the statues are full of edges. It's pretty mournful but I guess it's only right since it depicts the sufferings of christ. Victor seems to really like to pick suffering over joyous birth hahahaha.... :/
> 
> Yeah so sorry for the late update...like it was totally summer and all, but..life got so busy? I suddenly became the chairman of some Youth organization leading youth empowerment and the bettement of our city? I just couldn't write anything other than business letters for approval and paperwork is killing me! damnit I'm too young for this! Anyway Hopefully Yuuri's PoV won't take as long hahahaa
> 
> Comments, kudos, criticism and the such are appreciated and will make me love you forever!
> 
> P.S This entire series was born after I saw Tom Holland dance to Umbrella in Lyp Sync Battle in fishnets and leather...so that's that :/


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